


The Thorn

by Vera (Vera_DragonMuse)



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fairy Tale Elements, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 21:34:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6825250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_DragonMuse/pseuds/Vera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a pain to breath through.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Thorn

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a prize for vitiscouso for the SpringFRE.

The trouble with living with a thorn in your heart was that you never really got used to it. When it pierced him on his eighteenth birthday, Kili thought it was the most pain he’d ever been in. As he shivered on the floor of the tiny bathroom he shared with his brother, he imagined death coming to relieve him of the agony.

“Get up,” Fili held out his hand. “You can’t sleep in here.”

And Kili had taken it and the thorn _twisted_. Fili didn’t say a word. Didn’t ask. For his eighteenth birthday, Fili had gotten a car and a gun that he wore strapped to his shoulder under a crisp jean jacket.

Kili had that jacket now, more band patches than denim. It always smelled faintly of Fili’s clove cigarettes, baked into the fabric after three years of wear. When Kili got out of bed the day after his eighteenth, birthday he got dressed and pulled the jacket on. The thorn in his heart plunged deeper as he inhaled the familiar scent. 

“Fuck,” he pressed both hands to his chest, pressing down to try to relieve the pain, but there was nothing for it.

“We’re gonna be late, asshole!” Fili’s fist pounded against the door. “I’m sure you’re hair looks real nice! Now let’s go!”

Kili dragged himself from the bedroom, opening the door to find Fili’s bright eyes and dark scowl waiting for him.

And the thorn bit deeper.

They took out their bikes and drove out to the mine. To Kili’s relief, the methodical grind of work dulled the piercing to a pounding ache. Coal rained down and blacked his face and hands, crept into every crevice of his skin.

That night though, he ate dinner beside Fili, trying to keep up with their usual joking around the table. He watched the game sitting on the floor in front of Fili’s spot on the couch because there weren’t enough seats to go around. The press of Fili’s knees to the back of his neck made the thorn hungry.

Before they went to sleep, they always talked in their bathroom, brushing their teeth in sync. That night, Kili watched Fili’s face instead of his own. He’d always loved that face, the first one he saw in the morning and the last before he went to bed.

“I don’t want to know,” Fili finally said, breaking the quiet by spitting the wad of toothpaste into the sink. “I always said that curse was a bunch of bullshit. Now you’re being all pscyhosomatic about it. I won’t have anything to do with it.”

And like that, he was gone, the door to his bedroom closing with a snap.

Kili pressed his head to the rim of the sink, the cold porcelain doing little to ease the heat of his flushed face. The thorn whispered poison into his veins.

He waited to get used to the pain. Waited through all the casual touches and the smell of cloves. Waited through weekends with barbecues where they sit together away from the marrieds, drink together at their friend’s bar with their stools almost overlapping, and playing soccer together, their feet dancing in tandem around the ball. 

It never stopped. It ground down at him, wasted his reserves and then when he reached deeper, it took that too. He found himself standing over Fili’s bed in the middle of the night, unsure of how he’d gotten there. 

“Go back to sleep,” Fili roused, his eyes a shine of moonlight.

“Fi,” he whispered, paper thin and broken.

“Get out,” Fili told him in the same voice he used before he broke a bully’s wrist for daring to touch his younger brother.

Kili got out.

But the next night he was back. He sat down on the floor, curled up around the vicious bite of the thorn and fought down the tears.

“Out,” Fili didn’t even turn over, the word a command issued with his back to his brother.

That weekend they did not go the barbecue. They did not go out drinking. They did not play soccer. Fili vanished on Friday night and didn’t reappear until Monday morning. Someone else had done his braids. Poorly, Kili thought. 

“We’re late,” Fili said without heat and Kili trailed behind him.

The mine didn’t do its usual magic. Halfway through the day, Kili collapsed and they took him out to medical. Oin shone a light in his eyes and and looked in his ears, but he never drew the stethoscope to Kili’s chest.

He took Kili’s hand at the end of the appointment, spread the fingers wide.

“You can live forever just like this,” Oin traced the thickest line in his hand.

Kili nodded numbly and left. He sat down on the curb outside the medic’s station, dropped his head in his hands and imagined a life of this. A life of ebbing and flowing. Of needing to be close, but not too close.

“The trouble with curses,” Fili said over his head and Kili looked up startled, “is that someone once thought they were a blessing.”

“What?” Kili blinked, the sun streaming behind Fili’s head, bright and unyielding. It turned his hair to a halo of gold.

“Kiss your true love and live a life without pain. That’s a blessing, isn’t it?”

“But that’s not what-”

“It is though, isn’t it?” Fili moved, the light streaming right into Kili’s eyes blinding him. “A blessing, a curse. It’s all in what happens after.”

“You won’t kiss me,” Kili turned his speckled vision away. He burned and he ached and he thought about Oin telling him about living for a long time. 

The air creased beside him, the smell of cloves intensifying as Fili’s breath caressed his cheek.

“I don’t believe in curses. I don’t believe in blessing,” Fili said quietly, an ancient chant from his lips. “I believe that you believe.”

“Why can’t that be enough?” Kili gritted out. “All our lives I’ve taken everything you’ve said on faith. This one time…please. Fi…Fi I can’t live like this.”

Fili stood and his boots scraped over the pavement, moving away. Kili dropped his head, a hot slick of tears burning over him. Firing him.

He gathered his things into a satchel when he got home. He went out the back.

There were other mines and other jobs for men who knew what they were about. 

Kili and his thorn moved over the countryside. They slept rough for a time, but soon found a new town. He didn’t find a mine. Instead, he found a bar that he kept clean and plenty of mugs to fill. The thorn thrashed ruthlessly, but Kili felt nothing. He had gone numb and the speckles of sun never quite faded from his vision.

“A pint,” someone asked months later, their money already in hand.

Kili reached for it, took the bills, skin over skin and for the first time, the thorn went still.

“What-” Kili started.

“I’m sorry,” Fili took Kili’s hand in his. “I’ve looked everywhere for you. Come home.”

“To what?” Kili choked.

“To me.”

In one neat maneuver, Fili’s hands planted on the bar and his legs swung over so he could stand before Kili. Then he was up on his toes and before Kili could set down the bar rag, the kiss was searing over him.

Fili’s lips were chapped. His breath smelled of cloves. The butt of his gun dug into Kili’s ribs.

It was nothing. A passing moment. A kiss in a country of a thousand kisses. 

But the thorn unhooked itself and rattled painlessly against Kili’s ribs.

“What was that?” Fili took a small step back, his hands still locked firmly around Kili’s biceps like a promise.

Kili reached into his shirt and pulled out a large hooked thorn, drenched in blood. Fili stared at it.

“What do we do with it?” He turned wild eyed to Kili’s face.

“I’ll think of something,” Kili placed it on the bar and leaned down to take the second kiss for himself.

The thorn punctured and pierced itself hung around a chain. The point just brushed over Fili’s heart, leaving faint scratches that ached and caught and sometimes bled. A reminder in all the years that followed, but he never complained. After all, one could live a long time with nearly anything.


End file.
